


Love Man

by Reaping



Series: Artsy April [8]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dirty Dancing, Frottage, Fully Clothed, I don't even know how to tag this, Is that a thing, M/M, a little cracky at the start, inspired by some bomb songs, porn light, very light angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 07:02:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6506026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reaping/pseuds/Reaping
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>April 8th Prompt: Weapon</p><p>“Dude, my body is a finely honed weapon.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Man

**Author's Note:**

> So, they're linked in the fic, but I'm going to link them again because I love them. Here are the songs referenced during this little scene:
> 
>  
> 
> Otis Redding - Love Man  
> Solomon Burke - Cry to Me
> 
>  
> 
> Both songs appear in the lovely movie, **_Dirty Dancing_**
> 
> regular notes bit:  
> I'm doing a lovely challenge with some friends called Artsy April. They'll be doing art, but since I cannot draw or paint or sculpt or do basically anything art-related to save my life, I'm doing a daily fic. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> If I missed tags let me know. Concrit is always welcome and appreciated.

Derek can hear the music echoing out of the closed window above him, the beat familiar but the words too muffled to hear clearly. He scales the side of the house eyes going wide when he hits the window ledge. The music is more clear up here, the smooth tone of [Otis Redding’s](https://youtu.be/ijK0WTB_-RY?t=3m33s) voice rolling through the air. His gaze travels over the man dancing around the room, pale skin glistening with sweat, long fingers seeming to caress every surface they touch, hips rolling and swaying to the beat, occasionally grinding against a broom handle as it gets moved around the room. It’s harder than it should be to swallow, mouth suddenly cottony dry, pulse racing. The snick of the window opening is lost to the drumline as the song picks up the pace, feet carrying him across the floor, a bare foot between them and still his presence unnoticed. A hip roll, a spin, and suddenly Stiles is right there, jumping a little (not as much as before, body more schooled at reacting to the unexpected). A flush rises across his bare chest, spreading up his neck but also creeping lower, across abs that are more defined than Derek can remember. His eyes are caught, a bead of sweat trickling down, down, down, absorbing into dark grey fabric. A cleared throat brings him back to the moment, makes him hope it wasn’t noticed. The muscles bunch and stretch, strong forearm reaching out towards Derek, and he braces himself for the touch, wanting and not wanting all at once, but the fingers don’t even brush against him as the arm keeps moving, finger tapping onto the keyboard blocked by Derek’s body, and the room is dropped into almost silence, the slightly elevated breathing Stiles is working to control suddenly loud.

“Normal people use the front door Derek. What do you need?”

 “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” And yes, it was obvious, and maybe he feels a little stupid for asking the question, but still. His mouth turns down, glower settling onto his face like an old and familiar friend. The answering sigh is annoyed. “Can’t train with the wolves and I gotta keep in fighting shape somehow.”

“Fighting shape?” Derek’s eyebrows climb up his forehead.

“Dude, my body is a finely honed weapon.” The answering snort was filled with sarcasm.

“Right.”

“If hips could kill, you’d be dead dude.”

“Don’t call me dude.”

“Seriously. A weapon of mass Deee-struction. Get it? D for –”

“I get it. For the love of god, please stop talking. Now.” Full lips twisted down in a pout, shiny from where Stiles had been biting at them. His own tongue comes out, sweeping across his lips, teeth catching on the bottom one as his tongue pulls against it. Amber eyes flicker back and forth, lingering on his now spit-slick lips.

“What did you need Derek?” The voice is almost a purr, the words slow.

“What?” His own voice is low, barely loud enough for human ears, his eyes following fingers as they skate down a defined chest normally hidden by too many layers, a sharp inhale as they catch on the cinched edge of the sweatpants hanging low on sharp hips, the tip of a thumb dropping inside.

“Derek?” His head tips up, brain coming back online as he takes in Stiles’ face, head cocked at an angle, confusion and something else dancing behind his eyes.

“What?” It’s clearer now, spine straightening, chest tensing as he tries to shake off whatever had just happened.

“What did you need?” A wry twist of the lips accompanies the question, though the purr is gone from the other man’s voice this time, replaced with a tinge of amusement.

“Um…” He trails off, unsure. He can’t remember, knows it wasn’t something pressing, but nothing else. The bright laughter that comes when he doesn’t follow it up with anything else brings a scowl to his face. He turns, muscles tensing as he prepares himself to flee back out the window, face on fire. He makes it two steps before there’s a firm grip on his arm, fingers locked as tightly as they can fit across the stretch of his bicep. He could easily break away, his strength far greater than that of the man behind him, but a part of him doesn’t want to, so he stops.

“Wait.” It’s soft, a plea, not an order. He stays still, body rigid. The gentle tap of keys almost makes him turn his head, but there’s no need when a familiar beat starts up, something he’d heard as a child when his parents thought the children were asleep. As the opening measures give way to a [dulcet voice](https://youtu.be/NmwA_bwv9uY), fingers drift slowly across his hips, hesitating as they slide along his stomach, moving slow enough that he can stop them as they travel up his chest, catching on his nipples. He reaches his own hands up, gripping the ones roaming across his body, feels the sudden tension but doesn’t stop, moving to brush his mouth across scarred knuckles before turning in place, arms sliding around the man in front of him, pulling them flush together. He hears the catch of breath, can smell the burst of arousal, so strong he can almost taste it on his tongue, realizes how much he wants to. He lets his head drop, nose gently tracing the path of skin from shoulder to neck, tongue flitting out to taste the sweat beading up there, body softly swaying. Stiles makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat and Derek lifts his head back up and catches Stiles’ eyes.

“Is this okay?” His voice is rough, scratchy, throat tight with the possibilities. Stiles’ lips part, his chest heaving, fingers reaching up to grip at Derek’s hair before dragging their mouths together, lips bruising, tongue insistent, seeming to try and taste every inch of him. When he breaks the kiss, the flush is back, deeper, running across his face and chest.

“So okay.” He sounds just as wrecked by the moment and Derek makes a noise of assent, hands slipping down to grab at the other man’s ass, hauling him up, reveling in the feel of strong legs wrapping tight around his waist, heat and hardness pressing against him. His lips catch against Stiles’ again, kisses demanding, legs moving them forward until they hit the edge of the bed. One hand drops away, a necessary balance as he climbs onto the mattress, knee-walking forward until he can press Stiles down, stretch the man out beneath him, his weight grinding down. A slight adjustment and a sudden catch of breath, hard lengths aligned, a filthy moan falling from Stiles’ mouth. He nips and sucks at Stiles’ lips, hips rolling down, Stiles’ hands on his ass trying to pull him impossibly tighter while his own body rocks up, the friction too much and not enough. Cool fingers dip beneath the waist of his jeans, hands squeezing and yanking him down, fire trailing in their wake, the other hand scratching gently down his back. A leg twines around his back again, restricting his movement, making the grinding of their hips together rougher.

“Derek…” It’s a moan, an exhalation, and before he knows it he’s spilling inside his pants, wetness seeping through the jeans. He doesn’t have time to be embarrassed, Stiles’ eyes going wide as he realized what happened, body tensing as he shudders through his own release, a dark stain spreading across the front of his sweats. His chest is tight as he watches, arms shaking from the strain of holding himself up when all his body wants is to collapse in bliss. He almost starts to worry, the old familiar fear trying to make a run at him, but it barely manages a puff of thought in the far back of his mind before Stiles is blinking up at him, lips stretched in a brilliant smile. Strong arms tug Derek down until he’s half collapsed on the other man, faces only inches apart.

“Hey.” Soft, low, something like affection shining in the amber gaze.

“Hey.” His own smile is smaller, more tentative, but it’s there. Soft lips meet his own, the kiss chaste for all that just happened.

“Stay?” He can hear the nervous tick in Stiles’ heart, belying the calm set of his face. His smile grows, his own heartbeat loud in his ears.

“Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [tumblr](http://jennthereaper.tumblr.com)!


End file.
